


Wild Things

by ghostedMinds



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst and Feels, Comfort/Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of Death and Violence, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostedMinds/pseuds/ghostedMinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 pairings and 3 different au!s.<br/>- Kenma is the ruler of an empire which on occasion faces invasion and his bodyguard also happens to be the most important person in his life<br/>-Oikawa decides to open a host club, but things go a little astray when he takes his club to Tokyo<br/>-Bokuto is the owl forest God of Akaashi's village, and Akaashi defies every rule he's been taught when he ventures into the forest to meet this God</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is a happy birthday fic for my sister (who most likely won’t be reading this). She’s kind of a wild thing and does her own thing, not letting society’s rules or standards box her in, and I’m sure if she could, she would go live in the wild with all the wild things she can find.  
> Happy Birthday baby sister!
> 
> warning: mentions of death and violence | inspired by [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5vUBQBykJ4) and [x](http://eicinic.tumblr.com/post/139380030310/sorry-i-have-been-posting-nothing-lately-im) / [x](http://eicinic.tumblr.com/post/139490689310/hey-do-you-mind-my-asking-the-stories-behind-your)
> 
> a thank you for [Gin](https://tmblr.co/mX69VpZaJydgcR-JiWKAW2w) who me use their print fantasy au!s (the kuroken and bokuaka ones)

_Find table space to say your social graces, bow your heads_

_They’re pious here, but you and I, we’re pioneers_

_We make our own rules, our own room, no bias here_

_Let ‘em sell what they are sellin’, there are no buyers here_

Cicadas cry off in the distance, quieter than the day before, warning of the coming autumn and departing summer. The late-morning is stifling and Kenma tugs at the collar of his robes, sweat already collecting under his skin.

He would like nothing more than to return to his room, shed all of the formal clothes and possibly rope Fukunaga or Kai into a game of Ohajiki.

Without bothering to knock or announce himself, Kenma slides the screen to the meeting room open, walking in and taking a seat at the head of the table. Kuroo closes the door behind him and settles into a crouch at Kenma’s left shoulder. The advisers, old men, watch Kenma sit with a look of greed and disdain that morphs into disgust, anger, and fear when they spot Kuroo.

Silence hangs heavily in the room, Kenma unsure why his advisers have summoned him and advisers unwilling to discuss the empire’s safety with Kuroo present.

“What’s happened?” Kenma finally relents, room stifling and suffocating.

One of the men clears his throat, another looking down at his folded hands. Behind Kenma, Kuroo tenses, grin widening on his face. Kenma can feel the biting remarks ready to bubble out of the spirit, and the last thing he wants is to get held up longer.

“The issue” he commands, voice strong albeit quiet.

“Nohebi is the issue. They plan on invading and claiming our, your, empire as their own. Rumor has it that they have a strong general on their side.”

“We must take action Kozume-dono. If we allow them to do as they like others will get ideas” another man cuts in.

“We should attack first, this way they never get the chance and we can show what happens to those who dare defy the Nekoma empire” a different adviser suggest, hand fisted and eyes alight.

Kenma scans the seven collected men and then moves his eyes to his lap.

He’d like to take time to think the matter over, but his advisers are power hungry and taking time to think the issue through would be seen as cowardly. No options left, Kenma analyzes the situation, ignoring the tense silence and occasional grumble. When a solution he’s confident in has been dissected, Kenma looks up again, eyes still on the table but head raised.

“We won’t attack. Kuroo will confirm what the current status of Nohebi and their military are. If they chose to use only this general, then Kuroo and his friends will fight them. If all of Nohebi’s military decides to invade, we’ll gather are own forces and defend Nekoma.”

Kenma sighs in relief when his verdict has been given, head turning down slightly. He hears some mumbles of how he’s unfit to be emperor and that Kuroo’s friends are all monsters. The comments have him tugging and picking at the hem of his sleeve.

“Kozume-dono, I highly recommend a different tactic.” Before Kenma can reply or anyone can say anything else, Kuroo speaks up, voice light but malice clear.

“As nice as it is that you believe so strongly in your way of handling things, your emperor has already given his opinion on the matter, yet you keep trying to sell him your ideas. Do you humans not trust him? Do you think he aims to kill, to _murder_ his subjects? Hmm?” The question shuts everyone up, anger and gilt on their faces.

“Is that all?” Kenma asks with a sigh, exhausted.

“Yes Kenma-dono” all seven advisers reply in unison.

Kenma doesn’t bother saying anything as he stands, wobbles for a second, then leaves the meeting room, taking in a deep breath when he’s outside and the doors are closed.

“I really hate them” Kuroo grumble as they walk back toward Kenma’s room, pouty frown replacing his earlier grin.

“Is Fukunaga or Kai nearby?” Kenma asks, ignoring Kuroo’s statement.

“They haven’t changed since I got here” Kuroo continues.

“They haven’t” Kenma confirms, figuring he wasn’t going to get an answer on the whereabouts of Fukunaga or Kai at the moment.

As they continue down the the corridor, Kenma can’t help remember when he brought Kuroo and his team of misfit spirits back to the palace.

Drenched in the mornings first light, Kenma had returned to the palace the morning after the last night of the festival, Kuroo and a small cluster of cats in tow. He had promptly summoned the advisers, despite the early hour, and proceeded to tell them that Kuroo and his “friends” would be residents of the palace and Kuroo would be his new bodyguard.

Naturally, Kenma’s advisers were against the decision, derogatory names spilling from their mouths, not at all fooled by the innocent bodies the spirits wore. At that point, mostly due to frustration, Kenma had used his title as emperor and his most commanding voice to tell the advisers that the spirits _would_ live in the palace and Kuroo would be his new bodyguard. There was little that could be said in refute, so the conditions had been set and the advisers had been dismissed, their eyes containing fury as they swept over Nekoma’s new resident spirits.

Once the room was clear, Kenma had immediately fallen into a panic attack, heart smashing against his chest and lungs wailing for air as his breaths came in too quick and too short. Surprisingly, Kuroo had managed to stabilize Kenma’s breathing within a few minutes, easing Kenma off the edge of panic.

From that day on, Kuroo and his spirit friends had been guests in the palace, protecting it under Kuroo’s command, who protected Kenma and his empire faithfully, a lionheart.

 

_So gather all the rebels now, we’ll rebel rouse and sing aloud_

_We don’t care what they say no way, no way_

_And we will leave the empty chairs to those who say we can’t sit there_

_We’re fine all by ourselves_

In Oikawa’s first semester at university, his knee gets injured again. The doctors tell him he’ll never be able to play comfortably again. That night he travels to Iwaizumi’s university, cries into his childhood friend’s shoulder, gets drunk and promptly confesses.

After everything settles, hangover no longer pounding, Iwaizumi and Oikawa have a serious talk, both laying on their backs as they stare up at the ceiling of Iwaizumi’s dorm room.

“I don’t know what to do Iwa-chan” Oikawa says, no whine or playfulness in his tone.

“Don’t know. You’ve still got lots of options.”

“Hmmm.”

The two lay in silence, tension between them, unsure how Oikawa will continue on when he gave everything for volleyball, when the sport defined him. Iwaizumi tracks Oikawa as he sits up and looks at the floor, butt on the edge of the bed.

“Iwa-chan.”

“Shittykawa.”

“I’m going to open a host club” Oikawa quietly announces, head turning to look at Iwaizumi and eyes burning bright. Suddenly, Iwaizumi wonders how he though Oikawa could do anything else, but he knows it’s just the look in Oikawa’s eyes that make him think that.

“Yeah. All right. We’ll do it” Iwaizumi decides, letting the though sink in and sitting up as well.

“You can't Iwa-chan” Oikawa cries, climbing on top of Iwaizumi and pushing the other down. “I can’t let you throw your life away, not for me. You could still go professional!” Iwaizumi places a hand on Oikawa’s cheek, looking into the other’s eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, who’s going to watch your troublesome ass Shittykawa. Anyway, what are the pros if you’re not there to toss for me. You said you loved me, let me make my own decision Tooru.” Oikawa’s face begins to heat up and he hunches over to burry his head in Iwaizumi’s chest.

“Stupid Iwa-chan.”

“Good” Iwaizumi says, running fingers through Oikawa’s hair.

That is how Oikawa drops out of university and with the help of his older sister buys a store that’s selling. It takes a year but Oikawa manages to get the place opened, hiring some people with the help of his parents. When opening day comes, and he only has himself and two kids he knew in grade school as hosts, he feels a little worried about the success of his new business.

There’s no need for worry though, because after a year with only Skype calls and text messages, Oikawa sees Iwaizumi again - in person. He runs to the other man and throws his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, lips peppering kisses across Iwaizumi’s face, ‘Iwa-chan’ falling from his mouth like rain falls from clouds, rapid and unceasing.

“Enough Shittykawa” Iwaizumi commands, shoving Oikawa’s face away but his own tinted red. “I brough some help. They’ve been training so don’t worry about that.” Oikawa pauses in his attack and actually takes the time to look behind Iwaizumi, gasping softly when he sees who’s assembled.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa, Kindaichi, Kunimi, Watari and Yahaba and even Kyoutani.

“Wha-”

“Hey Captain” Hanamaki and Matsukawa say at once, lazy grins on their face.

“We’re here to help” Watari says confidently, nodding his head for emphasis. The other ex-second and first years nod their heads in agreement.

In the end, after Oikawa’s tears up and vehemently denies it claiming that dust in his eyes which causes Hanamaki and Matsukawa to snicker, they open the host club. Iwaizumi takes to helping run the place in general, while Matsukawa helps at the bar and everyone else works as hosts.

The first few weeks are slow, but word quickly spreads about _Grand King_ , the new host club that contains Oikawa Tooru, and Seijou’s old volleyball team could not be happier with there success.

But when the whispers get to loud, old coaches and teacher and neighbors that knew Oikawa and Iwaizumi since they were kids, Oikawa decides a change is in order.

“Hey guys. This is my decision and you are not required to follow me. I’ll be moving to Tokyo and reopening the club there. Stay, be happy, marry some girl and have a nice big family.” Oikawa smiles at the gather men that he had the honor to toss to in high school. His fellow third years, the diverse second years, and the respectful first years.

“Bullshit” Iwaizumi spits, getting into Oikawa’s personal space, up in his face. “Who the hell do you think we are Shittykawa. We followed you to this club you started, learned how to work as fucking hosts. We’re not about to call it quits and leave you just because you want to head to Tokyo. You better believe we’re going with you, and if you argue, we’ll fight you. Captain.”

A chorus of “yeah” resound through the room, the others agreeing with Iwaizumi. Oikawa’s eyes glisten and he lets himself rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Okay then” he mumbles, relief and gratitude flooding his veins.

 

_So aye, we brought our drum and this is how we dance_

_No mistakin’, we make our breaks, if you don’t like our 808s_

_Then leave us alone, cause we don’t need your policies_

_We have no apologies for being…_

In the forest lives a beast, a human-owl hybrid. Once, long ago, he had cared what others thought of him, but those times are long passed. He came to realize, if others could not accept him, if he was to be labeled a monster and abomination, then that is what he would be - and so he created a home for himself, a home where he need not apologize for being what he is.

Bokuto Koutarou had been born in the forest, under the tree’s embracing branches and by the rivers soothing song with the stars and moon as a witness to his arrival in the world. The forest was his home, his playground, but he was curious and curiosity often breeds disaster.

He ventured out from the forest one day, following a dirt path till it led him to a village. His child mind was filled with wonder as he saw the buildings and unforesty things, running forward to explore this new place.

The people here were strange looking, pale-skinned with only two arms and legs and nothing differentiating one body from another, not really. But Bokuto wasn’t the only one to notice something strange. Rapidly a crowd formed around Bokuto, his wings pressing tightly to his back, fear beginning to creep into his mind.

Whispers grew louder till they turned into yelling, words like ‘monster’ and ‘abomination’ dripping from the villagers lips. Bokuto flinched as a pie hit his cheek, crying out when rocks started pelting his body. He crouched on the ground, arms covering his head and wings covering his arms, tears streaming down his face. He didn't understand what was happening.

The wind rushed through the village, quiet but strong, a call to the young owl hybrid. Without a second thought, Bokuto popped up to his feet, turned and began to sprint.

The villagers yelled, scrambling around like ants, but Bokuto payed them no mind as he stretched his arms and wings and flapped down, legs kicking off the ground, and he was airborne. The wind guided him home and in the safe burrows of the forest, a young Bokuto promised not leave the forest again.

Years later, when Bokuto is almost a man but not quite (at least in the year of man who live lives that are far too short) Bokuto makes a vow to himself.

Not-quite-men enter the forest, laughing and waving swords and bows around, high on life and their own strength that pales in comparison to those outside of their little village. They’re on a small hunting expedition, prepared to hunt down a deer and take it back to village, prove their worth.

From the branches of the trees, out of sight, Bokuto watches the boys. The words they speak make no sense to him, the language of man forgotten because there is no need for it in the forest, but tone indicating that they’re there to have a good time, and to bring harm.

Bokuto follows after them, flying from tree to tree, grown wings and feathered arms helping him maneuver through the branches. Below, the not-quite-men have found their target. They surround the the young doe, unaware of of the predicament she is now in.

Realization hits Bokuto and anger flares sharply in his breast, disgust filling him. He yells, the sound horrendous and murderous, jumping to the ground, doe startling and taking off as the boys run out of the brush to attack the innocent animal. They scream in response, falling over themselves to get away from the beast that’s presented itself, upper face contorted into that of an owl.

In no time at all, two of the three boys are dead, blood soaking the earth. The last runs out of the forest, wounded and frightened. Bokuto watches as he goes, golden eyes sharp and nails ready to tear.

For a while it becomes a challenge.

Villagers, men and boys alike, enter the forest and attempt to kill Bokuto, all failing and most forfeiting their lives in the process. There are few travelers who enter the forest to hunt or rest, Bokuto is never sure but the tone of their words are never pleasant, who find their lives lost to the owl-human forest God.

That is how rumor spreads, lifetimes passing and it becomes an unspoken understanding that to enter the forest, is to die by the hands of the forest’s guardian who is neither owl nor man.

_Find me where the wild things are_

_Oh my, we’ll be alright, don’t mind us, yeah_

_Find me where the wild things are_

_Oh my, we’ll be just fine, don’t mind us, yeah_

_Find me where the wild things are_

Tokyo is completely different from the whole Miyagi prefecture. It’s crowded and loud and _alive_ during the day, then at night it’s quieter but in the right places, just as alive as daytime Tokyo.

 _Grand King_ reopens in Tokyo within a couple of weeks, gaining popularity rapidly - thanks to Oikawa’s looks and Matsukawa’s drinks that Hanamaki helps with occasionally, and Iwaizumi’s smooth command of the place’s security (keeping Kyoutani in line too).

They all get high on the feeling of success, on living in Tokyo and being part of the nightlife, being a place where others go to to forget their everyday lives and jobs.

But the members of Grand King are soon introduced to the underbelly of Tokyo, the part of the nightlife that no one talks about.

Their club’s success bothers some yakuza boss and he goes to Oikawa and Iwaizumi demanding the closure of the club, or working for him. Oikawa clearly, with a classic cheery and provocative tone, tells the boss he can shove it and that they have no plans of working for anybody or closing their club.

Things are fine for a few days but then the club winds up getting trashed. After cleaning the place, Iwaizumi ups security and everyone’s much more cautious. Weeks go by but nothing else happens, no threats or trashings or anything. In fact, the club gains more success and everyone finally breaths a sigh of relief.

Things are back to normal.

Of course, life seems like some cruel joke when Iwaizumi’s gets stabbed deep in the gut, bleeding out in Oikawa’s arms who can’t stop crying while the other hover nearby uncertain, and then there’s the bottle-blond pudding head and crazy bed-headed guy standing at the mouth of the alley.

 

_I lose my balance on these eggshells you tell me to tread_

_I’d rather be a wild one instead_

_Don’t wanna hang around the in crowd_

_The cool kids aren’t cool to me, they’re not cooler than we are_

All his life, Akaashi Keiji has been told about the God of the forest, not human but not owl either, a hybrid of the two. He has been taught, through an undiscussed rule, that he is never to enter the forest because the forest God kills anyone who enters it. Everyone was fine with this, never questioning and following along to the unwritten law that had been created years and years before.

But as Akaashi grew, from child to boy and boy to man, he couldn’t help but wonder if the forest God was lonely. He would be if he was left alone, with no one to talk to, not that he had many people to talk to in his village. A resolution began to settle in Akaashi’s heart, and finally, one late spring day, he acted.

Without disclosing his plans to anyone, Akaashi walked down the untreaded footpath, taking his time to approach the guarded forest, book underarm. Before entering, he released one last sigh, wondering if he was tempting fate, and wondering if he would be able to meet the forest God before his life was taken.

Instantly, Akaashi can feel eyes on him, and as he advances, he can hear the leaves as the branches are disturbed. He takes a breath to calm himself and settles under a tree a ways in. Opening the book he’s brought, Akaashi chooses to ignore his unseen companion.

After a few minutes, he begins to read aloud, stopping when his voice gets hoarse. He stands and looks around, wondering where the river could be found. Shuffling from above get his attention and it seems as if the shaking leaves are trying to lead him somewhere. Akaashi quickly concludes that it must be the doing of the forest God, and since he’s already come this far, following the quivering leaves could do little harm.

In no time at all, Akaashi arrives at a river. Bending down, he drink greedily from the rushing stream, thirst quenched. When he’s done, he settles below a close by tree and begins to read anew, voice carrying over the hushed environment.

The sun’s decent causes Akaashi to stop, rising and heading for the place where he’d entered the forest earlier in the morning. It comes as a surprise when he manages to safely exit the wildness without falling victim to any injury. With a final look over his shoulder, Akaashi promised to return and turned to head back to his village after delivering his vow.

A pattern soon formed and Akaashi would enter the forest just before the high-noon sun. He’d settle under a tree and begin to read aloud, voice light and just above a whisper. When he got thirsty he’d go to the river, drink and then read some more, sometimes taking a nap under the blooming trees. Throughout the day he would hear the leaves rustle overhead, a small smile tugging at his lips. Each day the same routine followed, and both Akaashi and Bokuto were comforted by it.

Randomly, one day in summer, Akashi find a bunch of flowers where he usually sits. As he continues to look on, the leaves of his tree rustle insistently, and Akaashi realizes that Bokuto has given him a gift.

“Thank you” he says into the air, bending and sitting next to the flowers, carefully weaving them into a crown. That evening, when Akaashi returns home, he leaves the flower crown by the river. A returned present for his owl God.

From that day on, Bokuto leaves small gifts for Akaashi, some rather inappropriate like the dead rabbit which Akaashi’s tone when he’d seen the animal had convinced Bokuto not to leave any dead animals again (though Akaashi did receive a few live ones as an apology).

Akaashi found it easy to talk to Bokuto, partially because he could never see the others reaction. He revealed things to Bokuto that he had never revealed to anyone - his quietness that unsettled the villagers, his sharp mind that felt limited in the farming village, and his inability to work as efficiently as the other boys his age.

Bokuto listened attentively in the branches, owls nestled in his arms and wings. He didn’t understand what the human below was saying, but the sorrowful and self-hate filled tone hurt Bokuto inside, hurt him in a way he had never hurt before, hurt in a way he didn’t know how to fix.

This delicate balance between the two comes to a crescendo one day in early autumn when it still feels too much like summer.

Akaashi enters the forest like any other day, but instead of carrying a book, or filling the forest with his voice, he just sits by the river. Bokuto, and many of the forest inhabitants watch on, startled by the change in character of he boy they’ve come to care for.

And Bokuto decides to take a chance, do something he hasn’t done in so long.

Akaashi hears the leaves rustle, indicator to Bokuto’s presence, but he does’t look up from the river or pull his feet out. A thud startles him, and as he look cautiously over his shoulder, his jaw falls open and his eyes widen as he freezes.

Gold eyes look back at Akaashi, head cocked. Akaashi swallows loudly, eyes taking over the being, the man in front of him. The white hair spiked back, upper face resembling an owls mask but beak unmistakable and real, wings sprouting from a strong back and feathers covering broad shoulders and descending down his arms, nails sharp and talon like, pants covering his legs that are no doubt just as strong as the rest of the God.

Slowly, not wanting to startle the human, Bokuto rises to his feet and takes a step forward, wings extending when he wobbles and almost falls. Akaashi whips around, tearing his feet from the water and is ready to go to Bokuto’s side when he makes a deep rumble in his chest. Somehow, Akaashi understands and remains seated, watching as Bokuto slowly makes his was to Akaashi, walking for the first time in years and decades. When he reaches the human, he crouches down, a happy chirping noise coming from him, relieved to be in a position he’s accustomed to. The two sit in silence, taking each other in, within close proximity for the first time ever.

“Hello” Akaashi says first, unsure how to proceed.

Bokuto makes a cawing sound in return, smile spreading across his face. Akaashi is unsure what Bokuto has just said, but he assumes it was some version of hello. They descend into silence again, and Akaashi does something crazy then - possibly suicidal.

Without rushing, Akaashi raises his hand, Bokuto eyes flashing to the appendage and watching it.

“May I?” Akaashi asks, voice quiet, practically a whisper, the whole forest frozen around them, even the wind has come to a standstill.

Bokuto may not understand Akaashi’s words, but he understand the clear question. A part of the owl-man wants to refuse, kill this human and go back to his old life, but a larger part of him wants to let this human be the first to touch him - he’s already the one that’s given him so many first things already.

Bokuto bows his head, eyes closing. Akaashi swallows loudly again, hand inching forward. The tips of his fingers meet smooth cheek first, and both gasp at the feeling. Akaashi continues on, moving his hand up and stroking Bokuto’s feathered upper face, a deep rumbling coming from the owl-man.

On they continue, Bokuto allowing Akaashi to run his fingers over any part of the owl-man’s body that catches the humans attention. When evening has pasted and night is beginning to settle in, Bokuto catches Akaashi’s attention when he makes a weird dying sound. He waits for the man to get out whatever he’s trying to get out.

“A-Aka-Akaashi.” Akaashi’s eyes widen a second time in the day, shock freezing him. His name might have been kind of -mostly- mangled, but the look of pure bliss on Bokuto’s face is enough to make up for it.

“Bokuto” he says back. The owl looks on curiously. “May I call you Bokuto?” He asks, pointing at the God.

Bokuto points to himself and says “Bo-Bokuto-o.” He then points to Akaashi, “Aka-ashi.” Akaashi chuckles but nods.

“I am Akaashi and you are Bokuto” he confirms, pointing to them in turns.

“AKAASHI” Bokuto yells into the sky, name still mangled in his lips. That night, the forest seems a little happier.

 

_So aye, we brought our drum and this is how we dance_

_No mistakin’, we make our breaks, if you don’t like our 808s_

_Then leave us alone, cause we don’t need your policies_

_We have no apologies for being…_

In honor of overcoming Ubugawa’s attempt at invading the Nekoma empire, a three-day festival has been orchestrated to take place in the capital.

On the evening of the first night, Kenma wanders around the open space that has been cleared for the occasion. One of the palace’s servants follows behind him like a loyal dog and two of the guards track him in the shadows - so obvious in their jobs that it makes Kenma cringe internally.

Nothing at the festival appeals to him. He’d rather be back in the palace playing a game, even if no one can match him in skill. In his peripheral, a sight catches his attention. He turns his head but whatever it was is gone.

“Kozume-sama?” the servant calls, questioning why Kenma has stopped walking. He shakes his head and continues on, only slightly irritated.

When the wadaiko starts, the noise from the taiko drum vibrates through the clearing, beats strong and measured.

“It is starting Kenma-sama. Do you not want to see the kumi-daiko?” the servant asks, eyes locked in the direction that the set of drums are arranged. Before Kenma can answer, the thing from earlier catches his eye, slinking around some of the stalls set up.

“Kozume-sama?”

Kenma purposefully falls into a wooden rack with masks set up, knocking the display over. Screeches and yells go around as turmoil befalls the surrounding area. In the confusion, Kenma sneaks away, following the trail he saw the thing from earlier take.

The small stone pathway weaves around the edge of the palace’s outer clearing, leading to a small abandoned shrine a ways away from the festivals activity. At the foot of the shrine is a short-furred black cat with small pupils and eyebrows staring up at Kenma.

“Oya oya? What’s this?” a voice snickers. Kenma’s eyes fly around the shrine, trying to pinpoint the location of the voice.

“Looking for something?” the voice comes again, this time right beside Kenma’s ear.

He slaps his hand to his ear, head whipping around to stare at the half-naked man standing behind him. The two continue to stare at each other, silence thick in the air. The tension is interrupted by the cat, who approaches Kenma and rubs itself along his leg.

“Oho? Fukunaga seems to like you.” The man crouches down and holds his hand out, rubbing the cat’s head when it goes to him.

“Is that the cat’s name?” Kenma asks, voice quiets even in the secluded space. The man hums as he looks up at Kenma, hand scratching the cat’s chin.

“I wonder” the stranger finally replies, grin in place.

“Kozume-sama!!” comes a frantic cry. The noise causes all three inhabitants to jump.

“Sama? The emperor then. How very lucky of us Fukunaga, we’re being graced with the emperor’s very presence” the stranger mocks, bitterness evident.

“Kenma-sama?!”

The stranger is on his feet in a second, leaning in close to Kenma, mouth pressed flush against Kenma’s ear. “Watch out little emperor, there are beasts outside your precious walls.” Kenma flushes at the deep rumble, watching the stranger and cat run off behind the shrine, disappearing into the night.

“Kozume-sama” the servant groans when he reaches Kenma. Without a word, Kenma walks away from the shrine and returns immediately to the palace, where he barricades himself in his room.

The next evening, try as he might, Kenma cannot find the stranger or the cat. The man’s parting words still ring loud and clear in Kenma’s head, mind working restlessly to figure out their meaning.

It’s on the third, and final night of the festival that the words make sense.

Kenma is once again walking through the constructed booths when housewife chatter reaches his ear. He pauses and observes the content of the booth he’s stopped at, ignoring his servants ranting. Just barely, Kenma can hear the women talk about houses ransacked by spirits and food gone missing.

The realization hits Kenma then. The odd location of the cat and stranger, the parting words and avoidance of calling Fukunaga a cat.

Kenma looks down and realizes he accidentally stopped at a mask booth. Grabbing two, he runs off. The booth owner yells at Kenma as he runs and the servant is left to pay for he stole the items. Getting rid of the two body guards is easy and soon Kenma is racing up the stone pathway.

His breath comes out in quiet puffs when he reaches the shrine. On the platform before the doors is a different cat, smaller and light brown-furred, Fukunaga resting on the ground in front of the shrine.

Kenma looks around but sees no sign of the stranger. He walks slowly to the two cats, their eyes watching his movements, and kneels.

“Hello Fukunaga-san, Fukunaga-san’s friend. Do you know where your other friend is? I’d like to speak to him.” Kenma waits but is unsurprised when neither cat says anything.

“Little emperor. Talking to cats? What’ll your subjects say?” Kenma stands and turns around, not moving quicker or slower than usual. The two lock eyes again, Kenma being the first to break it when he holds out the darker mask, eyes turned down to the ground, hair falling into his face.

“Will you go to the festival with me today spirit-san?” The smaller cat hisses, rising into an offensive crouch.

The spirit who looks like man looks Kenma over, smirk settling onto his face - there’s something about the boy.

“Alright little emperor, it is the last day.” The stranger takes the mask and slips it on, upper face covered. “Yaku, enough” he commands when the cat has yet to stop its hissing.

“Thank you” Kenma mumbles, taking in the kimono that the spirit man is wearing tonight.

“Need help?” he asks, pointing to the mask Kenma still has in his hands. Hesitantly Kenma nods. Kuroo grins and takes the mask, placing it on Kenma’s face and tying it into place.

Masks in place, the two head down the stone path, intent on enjoying the last day of the festival.

“Kuroo” the spirit says before they enter the boisterous environment.

“What?” Kenma asks, voice drowned out by the noise, but Kuroo stills hear.

“Kuroo. You can call me Kuroo.”

“Kuroo” Kenma repeats, testing the name out.

“Yes, now let’s go little emperor” Kuroo says, grabbing hold of Kenma’s hand and heading into the throng of people. As the evening and night continues, the two enjoy themselves, playing games and eating food, learning about the other.

But slowly, like all good things, morning drew close and the festival began to come to an end. The pair walked steadily back to the small shrine.

“Whoo. That was nice. It’s been awhile since I’ve enjoyed a festival you humans have set up” Kuroo compliments, mask pushed to the top of his head.

“You could visit the festivals more often” Kenma suggests, voice hushed as he looks at the ground nervously. Kuroo stops when they get to the shrine, voice even when he speaks.

“I can’t. We’re leaving. It’s become too much of a hassle to stay here, and our accommodations aren’t that desirable.”

Fukunaga and Yaku jump down for the shrine, eyes gleaming in the dark, bodies turning to head into the last of the darkness. Multiple cats stand further away, waiting for Kuroo.

“Thank you for tonight Kozume Kenma. You’re not a bad emperor. I’m sure you’ll do good by your subjects. Good-bye.”

Kenma grabs onto the sleeve of Kuroo’s kimono before the spirit can walk away to never be seen again. “Stay” Kenma pleads into the crisp dawning air.

“Stay” he repeats, hand containing a barely there tremble and voice shaking.

“Stay.”

 

_Find me where the wild things are_

_Oh my, we’ll be alright, don’t mind us, yeah_

_Find me where the wild things are_

_Oh my, we’ll be just fine, don’t mind us, yeah_

Everything is ruined.

Akaashi is being sent away. He’s not sure where or why, but his parents have decided he needs to leave the village…and so they’re sending him away.

He hadn’t known what to do, but he’d gone to an old woman’s home. She’d moved to the village years before, coming from a different village in a part of the world he’d never heard of before, and he hoped that maybe she could help.

Without hesitation, Akaashi knocked on her door when he reached the house, waiting patiently for the door to open. “Yes?” The elderly woman asks when she opens the door.

“May I ask you something?” he says right away, to anxious about his fate.

“Would this have something to do with that forest God your in love with?” Akaashi stares in horror, not ashamed, but embarrassed that someone besides himself knows about his feelings.

“Thought so. Come in dear” the woman encourages, opening her door wilder. Akaashi nods and enters the small hut, taking a seat at the woman prepares some tea for the both of them.

“When my grandmother was a child,” the woman began, woven tale finally unwinding after being locked in a cluttered mind for a lifetime. “She knew of a woman who had fallen in love with a man who was a tree. I suppose your village’s forest God is similar to that man, a representation of the feeling between two things that should not connect in such a way.”

Akaashi gave the woman a blank stare, silently urging her to get to the story.

“Right, that’s not why your here. Well, my grandmother’s great-grandmother gave this woman advise on how she could remain with her beloved tree-man, and that secret was passed to my grandmother and from her to me. I now pass on this secret to you, even if you choose not to use it, perhaps you can pass it on to your children…or let it die and fade from this world like so many things have faded.” The old lady leaned in and whispered to Akaashi what her grandmother’s great-grandmother had whispered to a lovesick woman ages before.

After the woman was done talking, Akaashi stood and left, thanking the woman, and if there was a slight bounce to his step - well that was his ow business.

Later that night, Akaashi sneaks out, full moon high in the sky. When he approaches the forest, he makes a shushing noise, aware that Bokuto will soon know of his presence in the forest.

It’s different rushing through the foliage in the dimly lit dark, but he doesn’t let himself stop until he makes it to the tree he always reads by. The location is ideal; close to the river but not in the bank, nestled into a patch of trees as well.

At the tree, he walks to its base and rests his head against the truck, sighing out and steeling himself.

Then, into the quiet of the night, he pleads with the moon and the sky, with the earth and the forest, to accept him and let him stay by Bokuto’s side forever.

The world hears; wind whipping up, howling, and moon shining ten times brighter, the earth herself waking up. The tree seems to ripple, wrapping itself around Akaashi, accepting him.

It was a strange sensation, feeling his heart stop but the need for it to beat no longer necessary, his mind stretching into more. Slowly, as he becomes more, becomes the tree, he can hear, can _feel_ Bokuto drawing near.

Bokuto approaches as Akaashi goes through his change. He’s crouched in a tree over, nails tearing into the branch he’s on, his heart thumping wildly in his head and a high pitched noise he’s never made before coming from his lungs.

Finally, everything stops.

The wind dies, the moon’s shine lessening again, and the earth returning to her sleep. Bokuto’s wings stretch and he glides to their tree, no, to Akaashi’s tree.

As he lands on a branch, he can see Akaashi’s face sprouting from part of the trunk, eyes closed and a smile so faint anyone else would think it wasn’t there. Bokuto crawls closer to the face, back of hand running across a cheek with branches running over it, feeling silky strands of hair on his fingers. He draws in close, eyes closed, forehead resting against Akaashi’s.

Bokuto understands. He may not know why or what caused Akaashi to turn into a tree, but Bokuto understands, and as long as he can have Akaashi with him, that’s fine.

He may never hear Akaashi’s voice again or feel his fingers run through his hair or wings, but now he’s got Akaashi forever. He’s free to rest in Akaashi’s branches, lie in his shade, and listen to the song that Akaashi’s leaves will sing when the wind comes.

Yes, this is enough.

 

_We will carve our place into time and space_

_We will find our way, or we’ll make a way Say hey, hey, hey_

_Find you’re great, don’t your hind your face_

_Let it shine, shine, shine_

Under the cloudy sky, on a day where the summer heat is finally giving way to autumn coolness, Kenma walks through a villages market place - thankfully away from the palace and all of its uptight rules. Somewhere in the shadows Kuroo trails him, despite Kenma urging him to walk next to him. Kenma is unable to pinpoint the spirit, evidence to his superiority in doing his job in comparison to the last two body guards.

Kuroo notices the ambush first, lunging out of his spot and grabbing Kenma. Arm around the emperors middle, Kuroo leaps backward in one bound, seconds before two men with daggers out, land where Kenma had just been.

“Nohebi” Kuroo growls, already knowing the assassins.

From the corner of his eye, Kenma can make out the mask that Kuroo wears, the same one from the night of the festival when Kuroo decided to stay, but also a representation of his true character.

“What’s this. So Nekoma does have little kitty warriors” a man speaks, eyes slanted and thick haired-bangs slicked neatly to the side. Kenma can feel Kuroo’s chest vibrate with a growl.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll be killing that boy in your arms” snake man speaks again, tongue poking out.

“Kenma, go back to the dango store and hide. Now” Kuroo demands.

Before Kenma can follow the order or refute it, another man, with spiked hair this time, appears from the shadows and swipes at Kuroo, dagger tip glistening with poison. Kuroo leaps back again, and dumps Kenma in a nearby water pot, covering it with a crate. Kenma pushes against the crate when he feels it shudder, a groan indicating a body has just landed on it.

The next few minutes are tense as Kenma waits in the water jug. He hears blades clash together and the apparent leader of Nohebi’s assassins introduce himself as Daishou Suguru. Voices from villagers and nearby farmers reaches Kenma’s ears, screams and cries all the evidence Kenma needs that several are dying.

He knows that Kuroo would never end the life of an innocent, which mans Nohebi is the one doing the killing, which upsets Kenma more than he’s use to. He may not interact with his subjects, but they are still his subjects and innocent people, who shouldn’t have to forfeit their lives because he decided to leave the palace and wander around.

What feels like hours later, though Kenma estimates is less that fifteen minutes later, the noise and the groaning comes to an end, eerie silence descending. Again, Kenma pushes against the crate, relieved when it gives way and falls off of the lip of the jug. He looks around and has to cover his mouth and nose nauseated. Bodies litter the ground, but Kuroo and the Nohebi assassins as no where in sight.

Steeling himself, Kenma climbs out of the jug and walks around the bodies, blood soaking his shoes. He dispels those thoughts, heart beating faster than normal, panic waiting at the edge of his resolution, at the edge of his mind. A blood message on a house wall stops Kenma in his search.

_FAILED EMPEROR_

Kenma can feel the panic setting in now. _Where is Kuroo?_

“Little emperor” comes a strained voiced. Kenma runs to the knocked down building, shoving weaved straw aside, heart pumping and breath short.

“Kuro” he whines, voice high and barley audible.

“ ’M fine” Kuroo assures, struggling out of the the remaining debris. “Hey. Hey, breathe. Breathe. It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re a great emperor, perfect, there’s nothing for you to hide from” Kuroo murmurs, bloodied hands cupping Kenma’s face, sharpened thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his cheeks.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the panic begins to dissipate. Kenma turns his head and breaths into Kuroo’s palm, pulse still a little erratic. He nods once.

“Good. Let’s get back, yeah? Word’s probably gotten out that Nohebi tried to kill you. We’ve got to show them this little emperor doesn’t go down so easily, got a shine that’s got the snakes slitherin’ away.”

Kenma sighs again, this time in displeasure, the idea of holding a public announcement already nauseating him. No helping it though, Nohebi has just given him a new way to handle the possibly impending invasion.

 

_So aye, we brought our drum and this is how we dance_

_No mistakin’, we make our breaks, if you don’t like our 808s_

_Then leave us alone, cause we don’t need your policies_

_We have no apologies for being…_

The bottle-blond pudding head and crazy bed-headed guy turn out to be the boss and boss’ boyfriend of the Nekoma family, one of the most well-known organized crime groups housed in Tokyo. The duo take the members of _Grand King_ back to their home that they refer to as the _Cluster_ , where Iwaizumi gets patched up.

As that’s happening, Kuroo - the crazy bed-headed guy - takes Oikawa to a separate room and explains the mess he’s gotten into. After a word of warning, and care instructions for Iwaizumi’s knife would, the _Grand King_ members are on their way back to the club.

Decisions have to be made.

After everyone is back at _Grand King_ , Iwaizumi put away in a room on the second floor and the other members are collected in the main lobby, Oikawa address them.

“I’m entering this underworld Papa Cat was talking about. I won’t ask you to join with me, it’ll be dangerous. You all saw what happened to Iwa-chan, that’s what we’d be facing. Grand King is going to be the home and face of this family.” Oikawa nods when he’s done with his speech, waiting for his friends to walk out because that’s what any sensible person would do.

“A logo is definitely a must” Hanamaki says first.

“A crown without a doubt” Matsulkawa provides.

“On a cactus” Hanamaki adds, both men snickering at the underlying meaning.

“We’re staying” Yahaba says, a collective voice filled with different affirmatives by Oikawa’s former underclassmen backing Yahaba up.

“Okay. Okay” Oikawa says in slight disbelief, reminded of the last match against Karasuno when he’s lost a chance at nationals once again.

“Then there’s something I have to do” Oikawa says, pulling out his phone and taps the recently added number to his phone. The call gets picked up on the third ring.

_“Cats Meow.”_

“Papa Cat. I have a favor.”

_“Didn’t we see you a few hours ago, what’s - ow! Kenma!”_

“It’s nothing big, we just want to know how you got the nickname 'Cats.’”

 _“Hmmm. I can do you one better, if you want what I think you want.”_ From the club, Oikawa is unable to see the smirk on Kuroo’s or the arm he has wrapped around Kenma’s waist whose listening in on the conversation.

“And what’s that” Oikawa pouts.

_“Ta make your name known in this city’s underbelly.”_

“What? Me?” Oikawa gasps overly innocent.

 _“Am I wrong?”_ Kuroo asks, voice serious.

“No.”

 _“Didn’t think so. Two of my guys will be by tomorrow and they’ll put our symbol on your sign. It’s a way of saying that we recognize your club, others will think twice about messing with you. Word of warnin though - make sure your boys can take care of themselves”_ Kuroo explains, hanging up when he’s done talking.

The blank expression on Oikawa’s face slowly turns into a cheerful smile that’s a tad on this side of crazy.

“Done~”

“Shittykawa!”

Iwaizumi walks into the room with a little bit of a struggle, trying in vain not to jostle his wound. A chorus of Iwaizumi’s name goes up as everyone rushes to get the man seated in comfortable.

“Iwa-chan shouldn’t be up yet” Oikawa says with a whiny seriousness.

“I’ll ask about your call just now later. You have someone else to call” Iwaizumi growls, settling into the bar stool that’s provided for him, and throwing his phone at Oikawa’s face. Years of volleyball saves Oikawa’s pretty face from injury.

“Iwa-”

“Call.” Oikawa huffs but relents under Iwaizumi’s glare, unlocking the phone and typing in a number he hasn’t called in ages.

“Mattsun and I are going to go grab a drink” Hanamaki announces.

“More like grab some sunshine” Matsukawa teases, arm going across the other’s shoulders, joke about their invented nonalcoholic drink calls Wasted Sunshine.

“Get wasted?” Hanamaki asks him. They chuckle as they leave the club. The others make up an excuse to leave as well and make themselves scarce. Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa waits for the call to be picked up.

 _“Hajime?”_ comes the female voice.

Oikawa bites his lip as tears gather in his eyes. He swipes his hand across his face, then rests his arm on the counter, phone held tightly to his ear.

“No kaa-san, it’s Tooru” he murmurs.

 _“Tooru! How’ve you been? You never call. Why don’t you come home now? We miss you, and Tokyo’s a dangerous place and the job you have isn’t the safest. Come home.”_ Oikawa’s mom is practically sobbing by the time she’s done and Oikawa has tears streaming down his face as he listens, Iwaizumi’s hand on his back grounding him.

“Kaa-san? Do you remember when Iwa-chan and I were kids?” Oikawa asks after a few breaths, calming his emotions.

 _“Do I ever”_ she says with a light chuckle.

“Remember that time that Iwa-chan had to carry me home and I was bawling and holding Iwa-chan’s net and a jar with a Stag Beetle in it?” He says Stag Beetle with disgust and a full-body shiver, Iwaizumi huffing and rolling his eyes next to him.

 _“I do”_ Oikawa’s mother confirms with a slight note of suspiciousness in her words.

“And do you remember what you told me as you patched up my scraped knee?”

Oikawa’s mother gasps, voice weak as she speaks into the phone. _“Don’t cry Tooru. If anyone or anything tries to push you down, get up and push back, even if it’s fear or insecurities pushing you down.”_

“Things are different here, the people are…kind of wild and they’re trying to push me down. Kaa-san, I can’t let them do that. Volleyball use to be my stage, I don’t have that anymore, but I’ve found a new stage and I _know_ I can be the best on it.” The line is silent for a couple of minutes before there’s a reply, a small sigh of resignation.

 _“I understand Tooru. Make sure to come home for a visit though, Takeru misses playing volleyball with you, and don’t forget to bring Hajime back too. Take care of those boys that follow you like you’re their king…and take care of yourself too Tooru.”_ Oikawa’s mom is sobbing again on the other line, clearly distraught at having to let her child be a man.

“I will. Thank you kaa-san. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more, but I’m not sorry about what I’m doing.”

_“No, you wouldn’t be. I love you Tooru, we all love you.”_

“Love you kaa-san” Oikawa mumbles, hanging up when he finishes the words because he doesn’t want to risk giving in and going home.

Iwaizumi has his arms open when Oikawa ends the call, and the former setter goes into them willingly, clutching onto the back of Iwaizumi’s shirt.

“We’re the wild things now Tooru, there’s no turning back.”

 

_Find me where the wild things are_

_Oh my, we’ll be alright, don’t mind us, yeah_

_Find me where the wild things are_

_Oh my, we’ll be just fine, don’t mind us, yeah_

_Find me where the wild things are_

Winter has finally arrived, snow blanketing _everything_ and a permanent chill in the air; days shorter and nights longer. Nohebi has been taken care of, peace spread throughout the Nekoma empire once again.

Kenma sneezes, noise high pitched and likely to make a certain spirit laugh if he was around. Kenma slides a door open, occupants looking up at him immediately.

“Kuro” he mumbles. Whatever Kuroo had been about to say dies on his lips, eyes locking on the two servants and bodyguards standing behind the emperor.

“Kozume-sama” Kuroo says instead, tease in his voice as he drops down to one knee, a brief flash of pain crossing his face. The other spirits bow their heads at Kuroo’s kneel, and the act causes a small frown to settle on Kenma’s face.

“You can tell the advisers I’ll be spending the rest of my day here” Kenma says, head turning to look at the four individuals with one eye. It’s Kenma’s blank stare coupled with the eyes of all the spirits in the room that unnerves the four men enough to mutter a 'yes sir’ and walk away.

With a small sigh, Kenma enters the room and closes the door, cutting off the winter chill.

“You look half-frozen” Yaku scolds, getting up and pulling the blanket out from under Yamamoto, wrapping it around Kenma’s small frame. Kenma nods in appreciation, burrowing ever so slightly into the material, still warm from Yamamoto’s body.

“Ohajiki?” Kai asks, him and Fukunaga already settle around some of the marbles Yamamoto had gotten from somewhere when he’d found out Kenma enjoyed the game - something about Kenma playing with rocks being unacceptable.

“Yes” Kenma accepts, settling down on the floor to play. Kuroo takes a seat just behind him, draping himself over the emperor to provide some extra warmth. As the game proceeds, the other spirits settle into their own activities.

“Let’s go, you need sleep” Kuroo says when night has descended, nudging Kenma.

“Kay” Kenma mumbles, the meal he’d eaten an hour before resting comfortably and heaving in his stomach, warmth from multiple blankets making his eyes droop. Kenma allows Kuroo to help him up, following the older out of the room.

“Good night” he remembers to say to the room, occupants giving their own words of farewell.

Kuroo and Kenma walk side-by-side till they reach Kenma’s private room. Unsurprisingly, a slight chill has made its home in it.

As Kuroo prepares Kenma’s futon, several blankets to warm Kenma throughout the night, the human emperor stands off to the side.

“Alright little emperor, off” Kuroo announces, helping Kenma slip out of all his robes till he’s bare, then helping him into a thin kimono that he wears for sleep.

“Don’t stay up too late and sweet dreams” Kuroo says, turning to leave. Kenma grabs the fabric of Kuroo’s robe, hand fisted desperately in the material.

“Stay” he pleads, eyes sharp as he looks up into Kuroo’s face. A smile, genuine and honest, rests on Kuroo’s lips as he turns to Kenma again.

“Always” he breaths against Kenma’s lips, bringing their lips together in a soft caress as his hands cup the shorter’s face. When their lips break apart, the tears come, wet drops cascading down Kenma’s cheek.

“You almost died” he hiccups, hands clenching the front of Kuroo’s clothes, face scrunching up.

“I did. Forgive this wild thing?” Kuroo confirms, hugging Kenma to his chest while maneuvering them down to the futon. Kenma lets himself be manhandled, finally letting the fear and panic he’s felt, and concealed, throughout the Nohebi incident out. Kuroo lays over Kenma when they’re laying down, whispering nonsense and sweet nothings into Kenma’s ear to help ease the pain and encourage the tears to flow.

Finally, when Kenma’s emotions have calmed down, eyes fighting to stay open, Kuroo moves to lay beside Kenma.

“Kuro” Kenma tries to say, voice cutting off.

“Shhh. Sleep my little emperor” Kuroo encourages, hand running through Kenma hair, laying kisses along his eyelids and cheekbones.

“M’ lionheart” Kenma gets out, hand holding on tightly to Kuroo’s.

“Your lionheart, always” Kuroo agrees, gentle kiss landing on Kenma’s lips, who mumbles something else, rolling into Kuroo’s warmth and falling into sleep’s sweet clutch.

He wakes up to the too-late-night-too-early-morning silence. Sticks of incense are alight, red smoke wafting off of the burning wood, smell heavenly.

“Kuro?” Kenma calls into the quiet.

Kuroo hums, dragging his nose from Kenma’s ear to his mouth where he places a small kiss. Then another, and a third.

“Yes?”

Kenma shakes his head and Kuroo runs his through Kenma’s hair, moving the strands away from the man’s face. Kenma’s eyes go to Kuroo’s chest, hand running over the toned muscles. He catalogs all of the scars, recollecting which Kuroo has acquired for him.

“Sorry” he slurs, voice still sleep thick.

“Hey,” Kenma raises his eyes to meet Kuroo’s, “It’s not your fault.”

“But” Kenma protests.

“No. I’m not one of you. We’re wild things Kenma, and we make our own choices. These are mine” Kuroo says, hand splayed over scars on his chest. “If anything happened to you, it wouldn’t be pretty. As long as we’re here, you’ll be alright Kenma.”

“S'not fair” Kenma whines, defenses down in his sleepy state.

“Maybe, but we’ll be just fine. Don’t worry Kenma.”

“Tetsurou” Kenma murmurs quietly, using the spirits true name. Kuroo grins, kissing Kenma again, this time till the man’s breathless. “Yes my little emperor?”

“Be careful” he orders, Kuroo’s grin growing at the command.

“I’m one of the wild things Kenma, I’m always careful” he chuckles, something darker under the surface, sharp kiss falling on Kenma’s neck.

“Tetsurou” Kenma calls again, arms wrapping around his spirit’s neck, fingers tangling in messy black hair, back arching as Kuroo continues to assault his neck.

Wild things indeed.


End file.
